


Gymnast Harleen

by Eternallost



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: Abusive Parents, Backstory, Choices, Circus, F/M, First Kiss, Found Family, Grooming, Gymnastics, High School, Hurt/Comfort, Ownership, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:08:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21577345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eternallost/pseuds/Eternallost
Summary: Perhaps their first meeting wasn't at Arkham.
Relationships: Joker (DCU)/Harleen Quinzel
Comments: 3
Kudos: 43





	1. Chapter 1

It was late at night and the Joker reveled in the fact that his heist had gone well. Much to his unsurprise, the Dork Knight had swooped in at the last second. Mind you, he had bigger plans than to be caught on that particular day. He left the lackeys to deliver the punch lines. He knew, however, that this wouldn't hold the hero for long. He needed some place to lay low. Head to the circus in town? _Nah, too conspicuous_. The Joker continued his journey through the shadows of Gotham, when he heard the wings of the Bat. He was close behind.

Without looking, the Joker dodged into the nearest building. He pressed against the door and waited for the sound of footsteps outside. Something creaked behind him- he turned poised and ready.

 _Some teenaged broad on a trampoline._ Glancing around, the Joker observed that he was in a large gymnasium, complete with all an athlete's little heart could desire. And yet, it seemed only one athlete was enjoying it this evening. Not wanting to spoil his act, the Joker slid behind the bleachers.

The Joker, in need of some entertainment, decided to see what this blondie could do. Curiosity urged him to discover why she was alone here in the first place. Fragile little thing could be snapped like some twig if a big, **bad** wolf came along.

The Joker chuckled to himself, _'Oh, I guess that's me.'_

He looked on as she ran with agile speed, jumping on the trampoline and quick as a wink flipped over the pommel horse. She stuck her landing.

 _'Impressive,'_ the Joker mused.

He could hear her panting; she'd probably been at this for hours. He bet the trainer left before she did. Heh. The panting suddenly turned to crying and she slumped onto the floor. Uh-oh, he didn't like waterworks, perhaps he should find another locale.

"I'll show **you!** " she remarked with ambition as she stood up again, looking into the distance.

This comment caught the Joker off guard. _Hah!_ This chick was too funny; what was she, bonkers or something? What had her pushing herself to her limits? _Perhaps it was a complex._ He noted the blonde pigtails on each side of her head and the innocence that practically wafted to him on the air. A **Daddy** complex. He was fairly certain.

The Joker placed a hand to his chin and mused, C _ould I manipulate this to my benefit?'_ He glanced at her as she crossed her arms and stamped her little foot after messing up a trick. She must have been about seventeen, but her childish behavior made her seem twelve. 'Cute, but no. Maybe in a few years.'

The Joker continued to watch as Harley lay down to stretch on the gym floor. She placed her feet in front of her and began to reach, putting her head between her knees. She suddenly heard a low chuckle from behind her; it was so deep she could feel it resound in her body. This gave her stomach butterflies. She was about to snap her head up and look around when she felt two large hands on her back, keeping her head pressed between her legs.

" **Hey!** " She anxiously squeaked.

"Hay is for horses." The Joker responded with a smile.

The voice was smooth and charismatic, his palms where warm. "Watcha doin' mister?" She questioned as she attempted to wiggle out of his grasp. Her heart beat faster and he could feel it thumping through her back.

His smile widened. "I don't recall ever being referred to as 'mister,' not too shabby though." He chuckled.

"Just who are you anyway?" She questioned in a more age appropriate voice as she stopped wiggling.

"I go by many names." He responded. "But you can call me Mister J, if you like."

Her cheeks flushed as she awkwardly stated, "Mista… J."

He liked the sound of that, especially with her juvenile pronunciation.

She stayed still for a while before asking, "So why is it I can't see you, Mista J?"

He then recalled that he didn't want this twit blowing his cover. "I'm quite the famous guy." He replied.

She smiled and excitedly asked, "Like movie star famous?"

The Joker laughed, "You could say that."

She began to kick her legs with glee. "Wowwie!" She squealed. "Um. Mista J, is it okay to get up if I promise not to open my eyes? My leg's kinda cramping up…"

The Joker narrowed his eyes, who kept to promises these days? Then he thought of something that might work with this chick-a-dee. "Are you going to be a good girl…" He stalled.

"Harleen, that's the name. But you can call me Harley." She smiled to herself.

"Alright, Harls, will you be a good girl if I let you get up?"

She felt those butterflies tickle her insides again. "Yes sir, Mista J!" He chuckled with curiosity as he lifted his hands from her back. She could still feel the warmth on her shoulder blades. She slowly lifted her head, she could sense him watching her like a hawk and she didn't want to make any stupid moves. She rolled over so she was facing him with her eyes shut tightly. "See? I'm a good girl."

He noticed the glow on her face with those words. He began to undo the tie around his neck, just to be certain. She suddenly felt the silk glide across her eyelids, shielding them from the figure in front of her. He tied the knot tight around the back of her head. "Well, you sure are, Harley." He stated as he stepped back to observe her kneeling on the floor with a blindfold matting her pigtails. The sight elicited a grin. He couldn't help but laugh, what a loon! "Well little girl, it's time for me to step out and finish my big plans." He inched back towards the gym doors, those cops on his tail should be long gone by now. It was then that he saw her eyebrows crease behind his tie, as if he was leaving a puppy home alone.

"Will you maybe, come back some day, Mista J?" She whined. "I've got a big meet coming up, and maybe..."

He stopped moving when he felt the shadow slinking behind the door. It seems the Dork Knight wanted to pay a visit. The Joker hid before the door was swiftly kicked open.


	2. Chapter 2

Harley cowered at the large bang of the door swinging open. She kept the blindfold on, just in case it was some kind of test. She didn't do too well on tests, but she was trying to prove that she was a good girl to this mysterious movie-star man!

Batman noted the blonde that was settled in a ball on the gym floor. "You there," his gruff voice questioned, "are you all right?" 

This guy's presence felt _rough_ and uninviting, not like Mista J.

She lifted her head cautiously. "Yes sir, all good here." She squeaked. He approached and she noticed the sound of fabric drifting across the gym floor, like a robe…. Or a cape. She suddenly felt the urge to hide the blindfold that was over her eyes. This rough guy could be after that Mista J. She tugged at the fabric around her face and it fell around her neck, she looked down.

It was a tie.

An elegant one like a father was supposed to wear. "Dad?" She whispered, confused. Her head snapped up as the dark figure stooped in front of her. Their eyes were level.

"You're sweating." The man in the cowl stated.

"Huh?" She said with a daze, "Oh, oh yeah, I was working on my gymnastics routine."

"With this on?" Batman placed a gloved hand on the tie.

She protectively tugged it back. "Hey! That's my lucky tie!" She quickly sputtered a lie, at least she had always been good at that. "It belongs to my- Daddy." She stroked it softly.

Batman raised an eyebrow, but this girl's response felt truthful. He just wanted to test that to make sure. First, his eyes scanned the room for any sign of the Joker: the other buildings in the perimeter had come up empty. Then he asked, "Can I see your routine?" He should stay a little longer to guarantee her safety.

She tilted her head, "You ain't one of those pervs are you mister?"

Batman coughed, "I assure you, I am not."

The Joker placed both hands over his mouth to stifle his laughter, this was just too rich!

Batman turned at the slight sound. Harley started coughing to protect the mystery man, "Ahem, a-hem… I'm just out of breath." She smiled cheesily.

Batman looked back over his shoulder for a moment, and then turned to her, "I think you should get home before it gets too late. Dangerous men come out at night."

Like you? Harely thought to herself. "Can do, I'll get home right away." And just like that, the Dark Knight drifted out the door he came.

As soon as she heard it click closed, Harley breathed a heavy sigh of relief. She wiped the sweat from her head, hoping that she didn't contaminate the perfectly kept tie around her neck. She noticed a purple suited man with broad shoulders pop out from the shadows and she quickly covered her eyes with her hands. "Still being a good girl, see, Mista J?" She smiled, hopeful of reward and tinged with fear of punishment.

She felt the Joker's warm breath on her face as he stated, "You did well, Harley girl. That bad man's always trying to _ruin_ my fun." She felt her cheeks flush and her heart beat happily. She abruptly felt his warm fingers on her collar bone and she breathed in sharply at the contact.

He chuckled at the response. He liked the obedience and could smell it on her. She was indeed a good little girl, albeit greedy. His intent was to snatch back the tie which he had left around her neck, but he was in a good mood since ditching the Batman.

The Joker lightly traced her chin and marveled at the goose bumps on her skin. Would they still be there if she knew? He let his fingers dip down to trail along the top of her leotard. Her breath came faster. He then asked with cool curiosity, "Tell me Harl, are there any... _guys_ you like at school?"

Her blush grew and she stammered. "'Course not! I-I-I've never even kissed a boy before! I wouldn't know how." Her body was quivering with innocence.

The Joker smiled, pure things were so rare in this city. And even if they could be found, they were soon made dirty, like snow in the gutter. "Do you promise to behave, even when I'm gone?" He queried.

"I promise!" She affirmed as she nodded, taking her hands off her eyes. They still remained tightly closed.

He gave a grin as he leaned in and put a hand over her eyes, placing the other on her neck. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes." She squeaked.

As he tugged the tie from her neck he brought his lips into hers. The contact was rough and smooth at the same time, sending sparks through her body. Somehow her young mind knew it was the seal of a deal, a declaration of ownership. He released her and she felt dizzy with glee. At being wanted at all.

"That's a kiss." He remarked with a smile as he looked on at the puddle of mush he created. "Keep those eyes closed, Harley." He instructed as he walked away once again, "And maybe, someday, I'll introduce you other _grown up_ things."

Harley's world was spinning and she barely caught his parting words. She could hear the gym door creak open when she stole a peak at the man who took her first kiss. She saw his broad backed suit and suave green hair as he exited. She felt a tinge of guilt; she was a bad girl for looking. His laughter echoed in her ears, as if he knew.


	3. Chapter 3

_What chaos would occur if a person were to gain a complex inside of a complex?_

Word on the street was that the twit had no father in the picture, no mother to boot. She lived outside the city limits, bused in to the private school every weekday, staying late at practice every night. He wondered if dear old Auntie couldn't shell out the money for a boarding school or if she was simply making enough bank off the girl's welfare that she wouldn't give her up. He was certain whatever the case, the girl was _achingly_ thirsty for love.

Back to his original question, _what would happen if one gave said love to the girl only to have it deprived in the same fashion_ ; from a stand-in father figure per se? What sort of new madness would that bring? He gave a low chuckle of amusement. It wasn't every day a perfect ball of clay fell into your lap. And how could an artist not introduce his tools to said clay? Shaping her would either yield a masterpiece or puddle of mud. But oh, what fun either way! And the way she'd gotten a rise out of the Bat, ho ho, he just couldn't wait to see what her final transformation would bring.

* * *

Harley stared at the donuts on Coach Carter's table with a salivating expression bordering on lust. He wouldn't mind if she took one out a dozen, right? She'd had no breakfast and her Aunt had gone to sleep without making dinner- or grocery shopping- or even saying hello, for that matter! So what would one donut hurt? Maybe it could fill that empty twisting of her insides. No, she knew that one donut, not even one hundred thousand donuts, could fill that up. When was the last time she had been happy, truly happy? When she was sticking her routines it was something close to the feeling; but it was almost like she was running after it when she was speeding across the floor. No matter how high she jumped, she just couldn't catch it. _When was it?_

The colorful sprinkles on the donut faded in her mind's eye into the soft glow of rainbow lights above the carnival. A pigtailed, little Harleen bounced on her father's knee, watching the ringmaster direct a stallion around the center of the circle. A girl in a red sequined leotard sat proudly on his golden back, and within one moment she was on her hands, legs forming shapes in the air. Harleen let out a sigh of admiration as the girl ended her act with a somersault and a bow, the audience cheered, her daddy clapped and whistled. Her attention came back to the ring off her father's face and there were a bunch of silly clowns, all piling to get in one car. They were honking each other's noses and doing funny things with their big shoes. Little Harleen laughed and laughed until her sides ached, there was just something about those clowns. She laughed until her eyes watered and the corners of her mouth hurt. And while she was laughing, she'd lost track of the show. One of the taller clowns, with hair split neatly down the middle and a big smile on his face, was suddenly reaching a gloved hand behind her ear and pulling out a flower. She marveled at the ginormous size of that yellow flower, her father laughed, and she felt warm at the sound.

"Quinzel!" Coach Carter growled. "What are you doin' looking at those donuts?" He stuffed one swiftly into his thick-mustached mouth. "They aren't gonna help you with that pommel. Get back to work for cryin' out loud."

"Y-" Harleen wiped the saliva from her mouth and fought back the mist in her eyes, "Yessir, Mista Carta. I'll get right on it."

She'd felt free at the carnival. But that carefree lifestyle didn't keep her daddy alive. It sure as heck didn't put food on the table. To even think about being happy she needed money. And in this two-bit town she only knew of one way to get it: fame. Now there were many ways you could go about getting fame. And since Harley had always been good at gymnastics, why not get a sponsorship and go to the Olympics? Put her name on a sneaker or something. And if that dream did work out, well, she wasn't quite sure… But it was all about who you knew in Gotham, and who she knew right now was Coach Carter.

 _And maybe that movie star dreamboat,_ her face flushed. She half considered it a delusion due to skimping on the food. But she wasn't creative enough to make up a guy with pointy ears trailing a yard of fabric. She didn't have time for T.V., and well, she didn't have cable anyways. Living on the outskirts of town had also left her on the outs in many of the ongoing criminal sagas everyone seemed obsessed with. She hadn't told her friends at school about the movie star, but she'd told them about that other guy at lunch.

"Batman!" Her buddy Carlos whispered.

"Bat?" Harley snorted, "You mean that cat lookin' mask was supposed to be a bat?"

"Well," Carlos pushed up his glasses, "It helps when he puts his arms out; looks like bat wings."

"Ooh, so that's the fabric. Seems pretty useless to me."

"I heard he can fly." Samantha piped up.

"Or he believes he can." The two shared a laugh.

"And, and," Carlos urged between bites of a ham and cheese, "he's always fighting this guy called the Joker."

"Joke-ah?" Harley crammed in a chicken patty and downed some milk. She ate all she could when food was free.

"He's got this crazy laugh, ehehehe!" Sam shrilly imitated.

"Nah, more like _ehya_ Ha **Ha**!" Carlos bellowed.

Harley tried to keep milk from spilling out her nose. " **Hah!** You guys are nuts. At least he sounds like he's having a good time. Maybe he's just trying to show old Mopey Man a thing or two."

Carlos and Sam exchanged solemn looks and gazed back at Harley.

"What, is there pudding on my face again?" She felt around.

"He's a really bad guy." Sam shivered.

"Huh? I thought we were just having a laugh, you guys…"

"I heard he kills people. Puts permanent smiles on their faces," Carlos swallowed.

Harley paused to glance down in thought, _beats living with a frown._


	4. Chapter 4

"Take your hair out of those forsaken pigtails. You're supposed to look like a responsible member of society, not some juvenile idiot."

"Yes, Auntie."

"And work on your _pronunciation,_ girl!" Her aunt tutted, "You'll never make it off the island if you can't say your d's and t's. Now, give me some hard r's!"

"...I can't think of a word offa the toppa-"

Her aunt slapped her knuckles with a ruler and gave her a glare. "I need to hear say **Mister** Wayne properly, so that his ears don't bleed before he takes away your gymnastics scholarship."

"Mistah-"

The slap came harder.

"Mist **ER**." Harley gritted her teeth and blinked back tears, "MistER Wayne, so good to be heRE."

Her Aunt looked her up and down, "You'll pass. Now go put on my red dress: and maybe you'll get more than a scholarship out of this." A brief, cold smile came to her aunt's lips but not her eyes.

Harleen had specifically been given gloves to hide her bruised knuckles and scuffed palms. _Worker's hands_ her Auntie called the calluses from too much time in the gym. Made her look beneath her station, she said. Yet, here they were, both marooned in the same shack off the coast of Gotham. _Maybe **Auntie** was the one at that got off at the wrong station_.

She looked down at her pristine silk gloves as the green cab drove her towards Wayne Enterprises on a Friday evening.

The driver looked back at her suspiciously, and again, appreciatively. She hated when men did that. "Wayne Enterprises, eh?" His thick accent inquired.

"Yeah," she fiddled with her gloves. "It'sa- it's a scholarship gala. Mister Wayne funds a lot of things," she properly pronounced.

"Sure does; guy with money like that can buy all kindsa things," He licked his lips.

 **Ugh,** if only she could whack this guy over the head. Instead she directed her attention at the swiftly improving architecture. After the bridge, crowded row homes became businesses and businesses became skyscrapers. And somehow one skyscraper was able to inch all the others out in the sky, with a giant W that loomed over the corner park below. Her pen-pal Pam would say this guy was compensating for something. Pam was always using smart words like that. Harley often had to take out the dictionary when she read her neatly-written letters.

"Here we are missy, and remember: the meter doesn't add the tip."

"Yeah, yeah," she shoved a fist full of dollars in his waiting hands and watched him nearly run down two pedestrians on his way down town. Harley shook her head and looked around the busy sidewalk. She wondered, for a second, if she could simply sit in the park for three hours. But, that angry bum on the bench looked like he had other plans. She sighed and turned towards the building. She stalled as she saw a flurry of purple out of the corner of her eye. The color seemed to heat her organs on this chilly spring night. She swallowed, _Nah, couldn't be,_ as she entered the rotating glass door.

There were a bunch of kids from different high schools schmoozing inside of the large ballroom that the secretary lady had pointed her towards. Harley had never seen anything so magnificent: chandeliers, fancy virgin cocktails, butlers… She hated the feelings that it stirred inside of her, though she couldn't quite put a name to them yet.

"Hello," a sturdy man with suave dark hair and a clean shaven face approached her. She had no knowledge of suits, but from the way it fit him she could assume it had cost a bunch. "Are you enjoying the shrimp?"

Harley had grabbed off the butler's tray. Maybe that wasn't quite right. But at least she could remember how to speak properly.

"It's been rather good so far," she chewed, "If only garçon over there would get me a Shirley Temple."

"Martin," the clean man raised his hand, "Can we get miss-" he looked down at her for affirmation.

"Harleen."

"Harleen, a Shirley Temple?"

"Of course, Sir." Martin nodded and drifted towards the bar.

 _"Sir?"_ Harley winced, "You mean, like… the _Bruce Wayne_ kind of Sir?"

He gave a laugh, but there was no joy to it. "That would be me."

"Boy, you sure have it going on, haven't you? It must be nice to own a place like this." Her mouth moved before her brain. She bit her lip.

"It doesn't come without its costs," his face became stoic. "In fact I think you and I have a lot in common. Miss Quinzel, is it?"

"Yes," Harleen dropped a shrimp onto her pristine, china plate. "Say, how did you know?" Her brows furrowed.

"I do my research on all scholarship candidates. Would you believe me if I said that I'm an orphan, like you?"

" _'Scuse_ me?" Harley's face scrunched up, "…You think I'm an... _orphan?_ "

"According to my records." Bruce attempted salvation. "Your mother and father-" 

"Thought _sh_ maught!" She stamped her foot, "I ain't no orphan! I've got my Auntie!"

"Harleen," a chill ran through him, "I wasn't implying that you didn't have-"

"I AIN'T like you!" She howled as the glass shattered around the panicking crowd. For a moment, she thought that she'd done that and she stood blanching at the site. That was until the window washers rolled in with clown masks and machine guns.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!" A broad shouldered man in a purple suit bowed deeply.

"Joker…" She breathed the words in.

Harley stared at his elegant back for what seemed like hours before she tore her eyes away to see how the host was dealing with the million dollar insurance claim; only to notice he had disappeared. Coward.

"I heard that you were all here tonight to award a scholarship, and I'm positively happy to accept!" The Joker let out a laugh. That laugh played across each and every one of her heart strings like honed fingers.

As the crowd was frantically backing up, Harley was making her way against the current. Something in her soul wanted front-row center, just as she was with her daddy at the carnival. She sat cross-legged on the floor, with no mind for her dress, in front of the squealing kids and their parents. Yes, just like the show. She wanted a show.

* * *

The Joker couldn't ignore the doll dressed in red; perfectly framed platinum hair, ruby lips opened in awe. There she sat, _his biggest fan_ , gaping up at him in anticipation. And while at first he was shaken at the change in production, the twit had proved entertaining once more. He made a show of giving her a wink. She grasped her face like he was Elvis Presley and he bellowed out a laugh once more. He wasn't the King, _no_ , **no**. This little girl knew- He was The Joker.


	5. Chapter 5

"I'm going to need a few helpers for tonight's entertainment, a round of musical chairs! _Ha **HA** ha!_" The Joker chortled as he gestured to the frightened teenagers huddled behind the bar.

"You there!" He pointed to the star quarterback, "Strong arms," he poked, "but do you have fast feet?" He chuckled as a goon grabbed his prey. And so it went on: cheerleader, lacrosse player, baseball, basketball; on and on, as a chorus of squealing teens was brought to the circle of chairs. "And there's room for just one more…" The Joker put a hand over his brows surveying the crowd, as if there were a glaring spotlight.

 _"Me!"_ Harley stood up, her hand straight in the air. "I volunteer!"

From their proud looks of approval, the Joker knew the others in the audience had mistaken her move for bravado. Yet, the kids upfront could see the strangely _giddy_ look in her eyes and observed with uncertainty.

That made him smile all the wider. "My, what an eager beaver we have here," the Joker walked up to her individually. He cast his eyes over her, ensuring that she knew he would weigh her for all she was worth. Then, he took her wrist in hand, his voice low, "How could I _not_ chose you?"

"Enough games, Joker. Let her go." A man in black appeared out of the shadows, a bat-shaped object whizzing between Harley and the purple-suited man.

"Hey! Watch where you're-" was all that Harley could get out before she realized the thin string wrapping itself tightly around the Joker's gloved wrist. She barely had time to step back as the caped man was on top of him in an instant. He threw punches against at the man dodging with laughter. The more he grinned, the more the man in black scowled. They continued this dance, both connected by that ominous black cord.

Wait a minute- this was the guy that had been at the gym that night… This was Gotham's hero. _Him ?!_

A cuff-link dagger cut the cord and separated the two among the toppled chairs. The Joker caught the Dark Knight off guard by pressing a button to begin the music for the game. He danced around the circle, dodging fists as the Bat grimaced. When the music abruptly cut out, he was able to hit the Dark Knight with fallen chair. "Have a seat!" the Joker cackled as he slammed Batman's chin, drawing blood. The Bat turned swiftly, rebounding with one shattering uppercut. As the world was spinning, the Joker's eye caught Harley's face, as pale as his own chemically-altered visage. Tsk, tsk. Seems it wasn't the type of entertainment she was looking for. Cute kid, waste of talent. Meanwhile, his goons had fled or were being held captive by testosterone-fueled gaggles of teenagers, now emboldened by Batman's upper hand. It was so hard to find good help these days.

"And here I thought I delivered the punchlines," he sputtered out a blood-filled laugh.

Batman raised his arm to delve another blow as the blonde stepped in to shield the man in purple. Joker's eyes widened momentarily, then shut with the laugh that shuddered through him until his misaligned jaw ached. Oh, this was too rich…

 _"Enough."_ Her cool voice matched the icy shade of her eyes.

Batman lowered is fist and stared at the girl in confusion; no innocent civilian had stood up for a villain before. This whole room had just been held hostage in a murderous situation. Behind the scenes he had defused the bomb laid out under the final musical chair. All he could fathom to say as he sought the reason in her steely eyes was, _"…Why?"_

The Joker milked the situation with a groan as Harley knelt down to him, cradling his head softly in her lap. "Look at his face! You really a number on him." Batman watched the crimson from his lips seep deeply into the fabric of her glove. Perhaps she was right, the Joker was subdued. Gotham P.D. was arriving outside. It was time to make his exit.

This girl was a bleeding heart, why she chose to waste her tears on the Joker was beyond him. It seemed he would have to establish a better understanding of Harleen Quinzel if he wanted to truly save her. He knew how easily swayed all the orphans at this gala could be, especially without a positive role model. One like he'd had in Alfred. As he turned to leave he thought he heard her whisper, "I wanted to see the finale." Though the words were lost in the din of the police department, the thought sent lasting chills down his spine.

* * *

Harley felt butterflies in her stomach in the cop car home. As the red and blue blinked above her, she reflected on the night.

She had taken off her gloves to soak up the blood straining through his perfect porcelain, as The Joker coughed with a frown, "He's a bad man, isn't he Harley? All I wanted to do was put on a show- all I ever wanted to do was _make 'em smile_." His hand gestured widely, as if for some unreachable dream.

"Shh, don't talk too much," she brushed his hair back into place, a hue of green not seen anywhere else on Earth. "You'll only hurt yourself," Her full lower lip wobbled.

"You're a good girl, Harley." His broad hands engulfed her naked palm. "You deserve a reward." That warmth at the center of their meeting spread throughout her whole body, "You really do." _No one ever really said she was **good** before_… Her face felt hot.

"All right, Joker, time again to say 'Hello' to the Docs at Arkham," Detective Bullock slapped a cuff around the man's wrist and began to heave him upwards out of Harley's lap.

"Don't hurt 'im!" She wailed, her blue eyes all puddles of tears. Another detective placed a waiting hand on her arm to check if she was okay. "Get yer paws off me!" She growled as she shrugged the heavy man off.

"Everything's fine Harley-girl," He gave her a fatherly smile and messed her hair, "you'll see." The detective was quick to put the Joker's other wrist into the cuff after that. Harley watched that knowing smile all the way to the door before her vision dissolved into tears.

I'll see, she mentally repeated to herself in the cop car, I've just got to be good.

* * *

"…We think she's been exposed to some nerve gas, one of the Joker's trademarks, M'am." The detective fiddled with his hat, "She was acting a bit funny at the event, you see. Would you like us to take her to Gotham General?"

"No," Auntie shook her head vehemently, "No. That will be all."

The detective looked down at the splotchy-faced teen and back at the prim grey-haired lady.

"Well, uh, if you should need anything, you'll give us a call?"

"Indeed." Was all that she uttered before she ushered her charge inside and swiftly closed the door.

"What the hell happened?" Her aunt raised a manicured brow.

"Auntie, I was doing everything right, being a real lady and talking with Mister Wayne, we were enjoying a show," she bit her lip at the fib, "and then this guy in a bat outfit shows up and start clobbering Mista J-"

"Mist **ER**."

"And then there was blood all over his perfect teeth and-" Harley got quiet, the room got oppressively silent, as she looked down at her gloves.

"My **_beautiful_** gloves!" Her aunt gasped as she snatched them from her fingers, _"Ruined!"_

"No- No, Auntie, not really," she squirmed. "Isn't it a beautiful shade?" She admired, "We could dye them red or black or-"

 **"Idiot!"** Her aunt backhanded her harshly. Harley tasted copper. "These gloves, that gown... They cost more than your wretched _life!"_

"You don't mean that," Harley shook her head with a sad smile. " _You couldn't mean that_ , right Auntie?"

"You're forgetting your place, Harleen." Her voice was venomous, "I'll need to teach you a lesson." With that, she grabbed her ebony cane near the doorway.

* * *

Harley shuffled back to her twin bed, one black eye and a bruised rib. As she pulled the string to the light bulb on the ceiling, she saw something curious on her nightstand by the open window. She'd usually kept that window locked due to the train noise…

It was one beautiful long-stemmed rose; a card attached at the base with a ribbon. Her sore fingers traced the elegant script,

_"Want to run away and join the circus? –J."_


	6. Chapter 6

Harley dumped some clothes into her tie string bag, feeling much like one of those old _Looney Tunes_. But it wasn't in a bad way, more of an exciting way. For the first time in a long time she felt like she had a choice in the world, and she was going to take it. She didn't know if she would stay at the address on the back of the card for a day or a year, but something in the way that the tall man had rustled her hair told her she would be provided for. That she had somewhere to belong. She had to see what that felt like. She penned a note to her pal Ivy about the change in address, stuffing it in the mailbox after her coordinated leap out of the window. She clutched her rib after sticking the landing; she'd have to do something about that. Even in pain she smiled. She was off to the circus. Though there was something more than the streetlights watching Harley's journey that evening.

It was an easy escape from the patrol car. With Bullock's attention on the girl, he had paid very little to the tightness of the cuffs around the Joker's slim wrists. Usual precautions were often abandoned in the hubbub of hostage situations. His little girl was already proving more than a useful investment! After that, one of his goons, who had dressed up as a policeman, let him out of the back of the squad car. All this while everyone else was invested in the welfare of the poor, innocent children! _Hoohoo._ He had been surprised at how her innocent face had lit up with glee at his scheme. And she was just the right bait for the Bat. After the events of that evening, he simply had to have her for his own. What was he waiting for, hmm, an invitation? No, **no** , _haha,_ he might as well write his own.

He sent the same goon to deliver the message. _Would the little lady surprise him again?_

When Harley was looking at the tiny map to see if she was approaching the designated address, some flickering caught the corner of her eye. As she looked up, she could see the soft, speckled glow of Edison bulbs in the reflection cast on the Gotham River. She turned from the river swiftly to see the red and white striped tent on the muddy banks. There were still tire tracks in the dirt, as if the circus had appeared overnight. At the sound of the calliope, Harley's whole body perked up and the pain that had plagued her was replaced by excitement. He really meant it! _Oh boy, oh boy,_ the circus! Harley's sneakers sped up their pace, kicking up mud in her wake.

As she entered the red and ivory stripes of folded fabric she was greeted by a large man whose smile lacked a few teeth. He grinned and bowed to her, ushering her to her seat in the crowd. She was excited. She really could have had any, since the circus was empty aside from performers. A private show! But she was proud to be seated up front and center: He had chosen this seat just for her. She smiled at the view. She could almost touch the performers across the circular barrier. She could just make out every line, every crease in their faces. Three were dancing in circular cages. Their dancing isn't very good, Harley thought, it almost looks like they're being electrocuted. The acrobats above her were struggling to hold on to one another, 30 feet above the ground. _Those two would have to work harder on their act!_ They almost looked terrified. Not very confident at all!

Suddenly, the spotlight shown down on the man in purple, entering on a chair carried by two of the strongest men she had ever seen. He waved to the crowd. He must have not seen whether anyone was there because of the spotlight, Harley justified.

Still, he was marvelous. His tailored suit mirrored that of a well-renowned ringmaster.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," The Joker crowed. "A round of applause for tonight's entertainment, you might say they've given their lives to the act. Ha **HAH**!"

 _They must be trying **awfully** hard!_ Harley clapped in earnest, giving a whistle through her fingers. Her single staccato echoed in the empty crowd.

"I hear there is a special lady in the audience this evening. One whose gymnastics can rival even that of my troupe. Is there? _No,_ there couldn't be. Is there a **Harleen Quinzel?"**

"Ooh, me! That's me!" Harley flapped her arms back and forth.

"Well! Why didn't you say so?!" He waved her forward, "Step right up!"

She cautiously inched over the barrier, as if it were something spiritual.

The Joker looked down at the embellished card again. "Harleen Quinzel: why, if you rework the name a bit it becomes _Harley Quinn!_ Just like those tricksters; those porcelain dolls!" He gave a broad grin.

Harley looked up at him with a bright smile as she joined him in the spotlight. _Of course!_ She'd never thought of it that way! 

The Joker sat in his throne-like chair with a smile, that was, until he cast eyes on his Harley.

"Oh, dear," he gave a dramatic frown, "that's not very much like the doll, not at all."

"Wha- what do you mean?" She straightened, feeling fragile as porcelain. 

"Have a seat on my knee and let me take a look," The Joker instructed.

"Oh, okay." Harley sat gingerly; simultaneously afraid that any of her body would affront the man and excited to feel her weight spent upon him. The warmth of his thigh made her breath hitch. She hadn't been so close to someone, not since- _forever._

As soon as his forefinger and thumb had grasped her chin, she could have sworn she had lost all of the breath in her lungs. The look of concern in his eyes made her want to cry. Not for herself, but for his displeasure. He probed and prodded further.

Somewhere in between she had shut her eyes in pleasure.

His voice was almost a growl, "Who gave you a shiner?" 

Her eyes snapped open again. "Oh! Um, Auntie." She looked down. "I suppose I wasn't my best tonight." He pressed his lips against the throbbing of her swollen eye: for that moment all the pain in the world went away.

"You were excellent, Harley," He purred. "Don't let any stuck up old broad tell you different. You just listen to me... only me."

A tear escaped her eye; one she hadn't let people a single soul see in a long time. She was quick to wipe it away. _Maybe they could pretend it never happened at all._ After all, that's what everyone else did...

"Where else did she hurt you?"

 _"What?"_ Of course Mista J wasn't like everyone else, _he couldn't be._ And for a moment, that terrified her.

"You may not know it yet, but you're **my** Harley Quinn." He appraised her from under his lashes, "And I don't like people touching my things."

She tried to swallow her blush.

"Show me where," He directed.

"H-here," she delicately fingered her rib.

"Oh, **ho,** are you sure Harley?" He gave a coy smile. "You wouldn't lie to me, now, _would you?"_ Each one of his smiles held a different adjective.

"I'm sure," Harley affirmed, "you can see for yourself!" 

And the Joker did just that, lifting her t-shirt to expose the bruising on her ribs. Her heart was beating in her throat, but she just had to show him she wasn't a liar.

And, as he had done with her eye, he pressed his mouth to the crease beneath her left breast. Harley took a shuddering breath, but it wasn't from the pain. _No,_ she couldn't find the pain anymore.

He looked up at her bleary eyes. _Yes,_ now she belonged to him and she well and truly knew it.


	7. Chapter 7

"You've been terribly truthful tonight Harley," The Joker pulled back as we smoothed her shirt to perfection. "You deserve a prize." He tilted his head, " _If_ you're honest once more."

Harley had to remember to breathe.

"Would you rather see a show tonight, or, would you rather it be you and me all alone in this big circus tent?"

The smirk on his face had her wondering if this was one of those tests again. _Oh, she wanted a prize!_ But this was like finding the little ball under one of those cups spun around at the boardwalk. _Didn't the guy always hide it under his sleeve anyway?_ She had to read between the lines, she had to see the world that Mista J saw.

"I would like…" No, _she couldn't just say you and me or she would be a bra_ t. But she wasn't interested in anyone else in the room. Was there a way? Maybe, just maybe. "…you to put on a show for me. You're the only one I want to watch." She hoped the truth in her voice didn't come off as pleading.

The Joker let out a laugh as his smile grew impossibly larger. "You want me to **spoil** you, _don't_ you Harley?" He asked as he picked up her pigtail, letting it fall to brush against her shoulder.

She swallowed.

"You're lucky that you deserve it."

Harley's eyes lit up with excitement. She had made the right choice, _yippee!_ She was getting better at tests after all!

He looked her up and down once more as she sat in his Clown-Prince-of-Crime chair. _For tonight, Harley girl; for tonight._ This was her initiation. He would give her all that she wanted and more, leaving her craving a taste of the good life. He spun to face the troupe with a flourish. "The rest of you may have the evening off. I expect you to take the acts with you, and please," he smiled, "don't waste their talent!"

The crew laughed in response.

Their exit was slow, almost painful to Harley. Unlike the rush of blood in her veins. Then, the tent flap closed and she was left with only the sound of her beating heart and the one who caused it. He was draped over her, hands at the top of the ornate chair. "What would you like to see me do, Harley?" his voice was dangerously low.

"A-anything." She stuttered, looking up at his perfect complexion, his well-structured jaw.

"Throw a coconut cream pie?" His voice was high as he walked away, counting on his fingers, "Pull a rabbit out of a hat? Some card tricks? Trip over a banana peel?" It lowered again, grinning, "Saw a woman in half?" His face in profile observed her.

"Anything," She affirmed.

He stepped towards her, "Shoot a man in the foot, carve a smile onto his frozen face?" His brow raised.

As she nodded, he felt a stirring within himself that nearly made him shiver. "Harley," he rushed her, picking up her lithe body and spinning her around, "my Harley is such a _good girl_ , isn't she?"

She looked down at him with her still black eye, and bit her plump lip as she nodded _yes_ once more.

How he _ **hated** _it when people damaged his things. He couldn't bear to look at it anymore. "You know what, Harl?" He beamed, "Since you've been so good, I want you in the show with me. What say we put you into some stage make-up?"

"Really?!" She squealed before wrapping her arms around his neck, "Gee, Mista J, I'd be honored!"

 _You'd better be_ , the Joker mused as he ignored the tightness at his throat and carried her into the back room.

He paced around her wooden stool, eyeing her in appraisal. Her back was stiff as a board, he didn't know if the training came from the gym or was beaten into her through upbringing. _Nice craftsmanship_. Her body was well-honed and suited for all the stunts he could ever dream up. Inspiration struck as he grabbed the grease paint one of his goons had used from the counter.

"Let's see now." He set out to his canvas, painting with his nimble fingers. "Harlequins have dark shapes around their eyes," that ought to cover Auntie's penmanship. "And their faces are porcelain, like a doll's." He watched her closed eyes and opened mouth as he dipped two fingers into the white.

Utter submission became her.

He smeared it over her, molding her face until he reached her throat. _There,_ he trailed kisses while her eyes were still shut, though he knew not what made him do it. _A little extra sugar wouldn't hurt_.

And it certainly didn't, not from the noises she was making.

_Okay, **enough** already._

"There," he stepped back to admire his work. _Oh, and what a piece of work she was!_

Her eyes sparkled like the morning dew coming out of a fog, "Am I ready?"

"Hmm," he put a put a hand to his chin, "needs a better costume."

" _Yay,_ a costume!" She clapped, "what have you got?"

 _What have we got,_ he chuckled to himself. He had his seamstress working overtime on this one. Truth be told he'd had the idea ever since he'd seen Harley in her little, red leotard. He'd even worked in a cowl to hold her pigtails. Something to show off her figure in order to distract the Bats, yet still allow her to move freely.

"Why don't you look behind this curtain," the Joker bowed as he pulled the chord to reveal his masterpiece.

Her mouth formed an _'oh'_ of black lipstick. For once in her short life she appeared to be speechless.

 **Well?** _Quit gawking and_ \- "I want to see it on you," he purred.

"It's amazing," she ran her fingers over the black and red. "And it's mine?" she looked back at him with a smile. The girl had nice teeth. He admired them like a farmer who'd invested in a great breed.

" _All yours_ ," he grinned as he took her chair.

When she ripped off her top in enthusiasm he fought the reflex to cover his eyes or shout.

 **No,** she was his, and he had the right to admire his things. The twit must have been used to changing with all of those gymnastic meets. She hadn't yet the idea of the very different ways her body could be used as a weapon. And that body; he saw it all. He devoured every inch of her, every bruise, every freckle, and every scar. All of it was recorded to memory. For if someone were to damage his property again, they would no longer be able to walk the Earth.

"Oh!" she'd realized her humility too late. "I'm sorry Mista J, I forgot myself," she blushed as if half of her was not still hanging out of the costume.

"Harley," he walked over to her, "you have nothing to be sorry for," he crooned as he deftly helped her into her top. "You're beautiful," he stated before he took her lips, "my Harley Quinn."

She admired the black imprint her lips had made, a stark contrast to his visage. The ownership was mutual. But that would be her little secret.


End file.
